The Death of a Normal Life
by LittleMissMarvel
Summary: She's not ready, but he needs her to be. He's a genius, but he's not perfect. He ruins her. The other one just watches.


**Easter Holidays, 1968**

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand what it is you want me to do, Father," whispered young Lucius Malfoy.

Huffing in frustration, his father, Abraxas, rose from his ornate armchair and stalked towards the cowering boy. "I will only say this once more, boy, so take note." After receiving a hasty nod, Abraxas continued, "My Lord, the Dark Lord, has a sort of… mission he would very much like for you to undertake. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes, Father. That I understand. It's just I don't see why it has to be me."

"You should feel privileged, my son, to be even considered for a job of such prestige."

"Of course, Father. Sorry, Father."

"Yes, yes, we're all very sorry today. Getting back to the issue at hand, he requires you to take a potion that he crafted with his own hands and put it to good use."

"And what use might that be, if it's not too bold to ask?"

"I was getting to that, you impatient boy. There is a girl at Hogwarts; I believe she is nearing the end of her sixth year. A Slytherin, of course. The Dark Lord has noticed her for her talent, and wishes for her to join him. However, and this is in his own words, she is 'not quite done yet'."

"Done, Father?"

"Not yet in the state of mind that is required of a servant of the Dark Lord and his divine purpose."

"And where is it that I come in, Father?"

"All in due course, my son. As I said, not quite ready and as the Dark Lord has no want for patience, he has concocted a wondrous potion that will make her ready a lot sooner. And this is where you come into it. You must administer the potion without any notice."

"I will try my best, Father. I swear."

"You'd better. And don't underestimate that Dumbledore. The Dark Lord is weary of him, and so should you be. He must not suspect a thing. Do you understand? Not a thing."

"Consider it done."

**Summer Term, 1968**

Lucius searched the table until he found her, the girl with the wild hair. Mustering a small bout of confidence, he strolled over to the empty seat next to her and gently deposited himself. Exchanging the usual pleasantries, Lucius waited until her attention was elsewhere before adding three drops of the potion to her drink, as specifically instructed.

Luck seemed to be with him as the girl turned back and didn't hesitate to take a sip of her drink. Lucius rose from his seat and sauntered back out of the Great Hall.

This time the confidence came naturally.

His next set of instructions had been clear. He and a small group of trusted students were to follow and observe the girl at the same time every day, and send their findings to one of the Inner Circle. Lucius himself was to watch her at breakfast, more specifically to watch for any changes in her actions at quarter past eight in the morning. Truthfully, he wasn't exactly sure what he was to be looking for, but he observed her none the less.

It wasn't until the second to last day of the school year that Lucius noticed a difference. Instead of smiling at her sister and exchanging brief words, she merely sat at the end of the table and avoided eye contact with anyone.

Smiling to himself, Lucius hurried through his breakfast and rushed to send word.

**Summer Holidays, 1968**

According to his father, the Dark Lord had stationed a number of his followers to watch the girl over the holidays, fulfilling the same duties that he had done throughout the end of the year. In truth, Lucius had somewhat missed that part of his routine, though he could not explain way.

From what he could gather, the girl had begun to isolate herself more and more from her family and friends, or what few friends she had left. She had also begun to show signs of hostility and anger far more frequently than before, such as losing her patience quicker and snapping at those who annoyed her.

This wasn't enough, apparently. The Dark Lord said she still wasn't ready.

**Autumn Term, 1968**

It was her seventh and last year now, and it couldn't have started for her in a worse way. She had gotten in a fight on the Hogwarts Express, which had resulted in her using a curse on her opponent. Not an unforgivable, granted, but still it was a step in the right direction. Or the wrong one, depending on which way you looked at it.

The Dark Lord had been delighted with this news, and had responded to Lucius' letter personally, instead of instructing one of his followers to do it like he normally would. He was to observe her twice a day now as the Dark Lord believed that the changes would happen quicker and become more noticeable.

Deterioration. That was the only word Lucius could think of to describe what was happening to the girl. She was deteriorating, and fast. Things had been going well; she had been fighting more, using curses and displaying anger. There were even rumours that she had nearly killed a mudblood for knocking her satchel. The Dark Lord had been so pleased.

Then things began to change. She would mutter to herself, carve strange shapes into the table at dinner, bite her hair and start laughing at jokes no one had told. Her hair got even wilder, the curls knotting constantly and her clothes creased from over-use. Her nails were long and chipping, her teeth yellow and sharp. It was as if a wild animal had taken possession of her body.

Finally, a week before the Christmas break, she completely snapped. Rumour had reached Lucius that she had used an Unforgivable Curse on a second-year Gryffindor, although the curse she had used changed each time the story was told. The Cruciatus Curse was the most likely, in Lucius' opinion.

She had to be expelled, of course. There was never any doubt in his mind that she would not last the year, especially after she had started whispering about the never ending drumming.

The Dark Lord was not pleased. His potion had gone wrong, was what Lucius had been told. It had gone too far. According to some, they believed the Dark Lord had not taken account of all the variables. Lucius did not have the courage to agree.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lucius felt a shred of guilt. After all, he was partially responsible for destroying her. It wasn't his fault though, you see. He was just following orders.

That was the last Lucius saw of her for several months.

**New Year's Day, 1969**

'Ten.'

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

It won't stop.

Diagon Alley is a cruel place.

Mudbloods everywhere. I can smell them.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

They look at me like I'm mad. I'm not mad. It's not me. It's not. No.

'Nine.'

He looks my age, the boy with the black hair. Maybe older. Maybe not. May be in my head. May be real.

'Eight.'

"Can you hear the drums?" I ask him when he gets close enough.

He presses a finger to his mouth. Is he trying to silence them?

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

'Seven.'

"I've been looking for you, dear girl."

"Why is that?"

'Six.'

"He wants you."

"He?"

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

'Five.'

"The Dark Lord."

"Why?"

"You're special."

'Four.'

"How?"

"You're done."

'Three.'

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" He doesn't know. Stupid boy doesn't know.

"Done?"

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Not like you."

'Two.'

I like him.

"What's your name?"

"Lestrange, Madame. Rodolphus Lestrange. And yourself?"

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Bellatrix Black."

'One.'


End file.
